


The Weaknesses of Autobot Special Operations

by thefandombeckons



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Arachnophobia, Crack, He doesn't get paid at all actually, He doesn't get paid enough for this, M/M, Poor Prowl, Spiders, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 10:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19249612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefandombeckons/pseuds/thefandombeckons
Summary: Prowl resets his optics. The sight before him is, quite frankly, impossible."Jazz, why is your team on the desks?"





	The Weaknesses of Autobot Special Operations

**Author's Note:**

> It's currently 01:48 and I have not had the best day. This came to my poor little brain while I was getting ready to sleep. Enjoy.

The door to Prowl's office clicks closed behind its owner as he twists to pop a joint in his back. Optimus smiles at Prowl as he passes.

"It is good to see you taking a break from the paperwork, old friend. I know there is much to be done, but it is hardly the job of one mech."

"Yes, Optimus, I know." Prowl tilts his head towards the Prime. "You and I are both fully aware of the lengths Ratchet and Jazz are willing to go in order to keep me from my work. Would you like to join me? I'm off to refuel."

Optimus smiles. "Of course."

The two start down the hall. A sudden shriek makes them pause. They look at each other for a moment, then take off in a sprint towards the noise.

As fate would have it, the shriek came from one of the senior staff. The Spec Ops commander, to be exact.

When Prowl and Optimus first reach the area that the Spec Ops team had claimed, they pass it, only to double back when they hear Bluestreak's increasingly higher-pitched mutterings of, "Oh Primus, oh Primus, oh Primus."

Optimus pushes open the door. Prowl rests his optics. The sight in front of him is, quite frankly, impossible.

"Jazz, why is your team on the desks?"

It's a sight to behold. Bluestreak and Bumblebee are standing on one desk, clutching each other like their lives depended on it. Hound, thankfully with both pedes on the ground, hosts a trembling Mirage on his shoulders, looking all-too-amused. Jazz himself stands on another desk, holding a small plasma pistol. 

"Prowler!" Jazz waves them inside. "Get in here. You're gonna let it out!"

"Let what out, Jazz?" 

Mirage lowers his voice, never once loosening his grip. "There's an infestation."

Hound rumbles, "It was one spider."

Bluestreak's panicked voice shrieks out, "There was more! I saw them!"

Bumblebee quickly nods his assent. Prowl rubs his nasal ridge, glancing at the obviously confused Prime next to him.

"All of you regularly encounter Decepticons. Hound, Bumblebee, Bluestreak, you have all been involved in combat in the past two weeks. Jazz, Mirage, you regularly sneak into their base. Jazz, you  _make it a point_ to taunt them. Why is a small organic insect what makes you tremble?"

"I can do 'Cons, Prowler. Point me in a direction, I'mma getchu your guy in a sparkpulse. But spiders?" Jazz purposely rattles his plating in a mock shudder. "Nah, mech, I don't do spiders. They got too many legs, they too tiny,  _and_ they can literally get under your plating. 'Cons're in my job description, m'mech. Spiders ain't."

"Let's call them what they are, guys!" Bluestreak warbles.

Optimus starts slowly, "Spiders..?"

"Creepy crawley death dealers."

Jazz flashes a bright, albeit slightly sheepish grin. "So, Prowler, sparkmate mine, light'a my life, will you do me a sweet, sweet solid and find it?"

 _This is why I never leave my office_ , Prowl thinks wryly.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, before you ask, that _is_ a Thomas Sanders reference. Well spotted.


End file.
